A Contemplative Life

Brave Upon Being and other musings.... I might have to update my WIP page, adding a new playlist that has been evolving over the last few weeks after I inadvertently erased the playlist that had been under that title. That absent playlist still exists on my phone, the erased playlist on my computer. I'm old school that way, what can I say? It's a weird kind of Monday; damp and gray and actually a wee bit chilly. This is our third, no probably fourth straight cloudy day and finally the lack of sun has cast a cool pall on these final days of summer. Technically summer. But summer is an abstract term along the North Coast in Humboldt County because when it's between fifty-eight and sixty-four degrees most of the time, what does summer mean? Summer means LONG stretches of daylight, the possibility of hitting sixty-seven degrees, maybe sixty-nine, and of course mosquitoes until the dragonflies emerge. That's summer. Summer actually lasts until as late as mid-October if the ...

The Warm Hearted quilt neatly folded and resting on the back of the couch.   I so badly want to sew on the Warm Hearted Quilt this evening, but my forearm still has an Aquaphor-covered wound and I don't want to slap a band-aid on it because band-aids of all varieties (plastic or fabric) give me a rash. I did receive good news today that the spot biopsied was benign, which is GREAT! I juxtapose that with a dear friend's youngest son, who is in his forties and suffering from lung cancer. Enduring toxic chemotherapy in the hopes he'll survive long enough so his youngest child, three years old, will remember him. Sigh. We can't plan life other than daft outlines for what we'd love to occur. A week ago, when I had the biopsy, I stitched hearts like all the other days I'd been stitching hearts; I had a piece of gauze taped over the wound and no Aquaphor in sight. Since then, I've done very little sewing on that quilt. This afternoon I managed some Peace Round the ...

Colour does the heavy lifting in these six-inch squares with splashes of low volume to add sparkle. Despite two broody hens, one of which is a NEW BROODY HEN (ahem), I finished a definite quilt back this afternoon. It will be the back because the front is an EPP heart beauty, and this brightly coloured extravaganza will complement that warm-hued top just FINE. Life right now feels very....interesting, in a slightly overcast, marine layer sort of way. Revisions I wanted to do this week didn't happen. An extra broody hen wasn't in the plan. Completing this quilt top, however, was a goal, and I met it, and feel good about it. Certainly a win! Today my husband and I walked along Samoa Beach at low tide. The sand was packed and sturdy, the waves were loud, the wind blowy. I thought about how this setting could be incorporated into Noth's next storyline in The Enran Chronicles , as well as what looked like a driftwood forest there on the sand. Pondering that idea lifted my spirit...

29 December, 2025; yours truly at the north jetty of Humboldt Bay. Photo courtesy of my husband. I should be doing several other things, like prepping for possible weekend guests, spending time in the glorious sunshine, making the bed, putting away laundry, etc, etc, etc. But a few days ago I wrote a scene about coming down from the hill of Anger. And since I had posted a previous scene about the perils of climbing the mountain of Fury , well.... Anyway, here's the scene. It's another reminder that love is better than its opposite, and always will be, insert heart emoji HERE.       Half an hour later Shauna lay on the sofa, two cups of weak tea on the coffee table within arm’s reach. Rickey remained in her bedroom, scrubbing the floor. She ached hearing him huff and cluck, Spanish spoken under his breath, but not bitterly. She knew some of what he said, how nasty was bile to clean from anything, how her cleaning products were too harsh for the delicate wood. She didn’...

New mug rug. Fabrics are those I'm considering for the quilt explained below.... At times, this life feels, seems, looks UNFATHOMABLE. Regardless of how faithful we are to a creed, how at peace hearts remain in abject misery, how unshakeable love dwells within us, and despite the FULL SUN we're seeing here on the North Coast, the tyranny and horror and anguish and death suffered by others hits our chest muscles like we are right in the thick of all that darkness. I'm not merely thinking of what's happening in America, or the oncoming winter storm that will cause severe distress for millions in my home nation. There's Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan, Iran.... Massacres in Iran have quelled the protests for now. Yet thousands, perhaps upwards of thirty-three thousand, have died in one government's attempt to throttle democracy. Scores more have perished in other places, I don't wish to diminish those atrocities. But this uprising in Iran is a month old, or it was. And ot...

First seven rows are done. The next two are on the work table, awaiting one from the bottom section. So, heartspace . The word came up in conversation a couple of weeks ago when I was pouring out my heart to my beloved. The issue was minor in the grand scope, yet meaningful, in that what we discussed didn't tax my intellect, but severely strained my, well, heart. Certain things we can wrap our brains around, but that inner chest muscle is a different organ entirely. When I put the above fabrics on the design wall, it was merely to decorate the space, and that stack of fabrics was within easy reach; I cut them last year when making a banner in October for probably the second No Kings protest. When I cut fabric, I tend to CUT FABRIC, because it's a process. It's gathering various prints that make me happy, then placing that stack near the ironing board, where I'll press them, cut them, and repeat until it's time to do something else. It takes a few days, in that it r...